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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23611258">i'm holding my breath with a baseball bat</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookylegs/pseuds/spookylegs'>spookylegs</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>early mornings hurt the best [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Narcos (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Feels, F/M, Pining, i intended this to have nicer feelings in it :( but it doesn't, it is five am and mitski makes me feel a lot about javi okay, one day i shall write something with...movement...plot, technically mutual pining, this is from your perspective tho so that's a treat, until then it's all dissections of Feelings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:01:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,391</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23611258</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookylegs/pseuds/spookylegs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>that is all it takes and you tell yourself that maybe--maybe it’s okay. just for a little longer, maybe it’s okay to keep this and him and all the slips of memories you let shine too brightly to mean nothing. you love him. you love javi.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Javier Peña/Original Female Character(s), Javier Peña/Reader, Javier Peña/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>early mornings hurt the best [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699504</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i'm holding my breath with a baseball bat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>so, you fell in love with him.</p><p>by accident! in your defense--</p><p> </p><p>but it happened, still. certainly over a length of time you couldn’t quite discern--however, admittedly, there were so many other things occupying your headspace, you didn’t consider your sporadic weeknight... <em> companion </em> (for a lack of a better word, since there really were no words to describe your particular predicament) to become anyone substantial. </p><p> </p><p>you rolled over one morning in a bed you should not have and through a wash of early morning longing, in that crack of white sunlight, glimpsed a whole other man, a whole other life, and a whole other time. you entertained the fancy that you might twirl the loop of hair snaked across his forehead and he might wake up and grant you an easy smile. and you’d commit to memory that rare grin, his sleepy gaze, and the way the right side of his mustache sprung upwards untamed. then, you’d coil around each other with content and perhaps you’d wait a spell before disentangling and making breakfast. there’d be mundane conversation, sweet and slow. you’d share a kiss that’d end sooner than either would like before taking separate vehicles to work and then the clock would rewind itself and the day would start again, all the same. you entertained all this and then some, breathed still for ten beats of your soft heart, and let the fantasy drift away alongside your exhale. </p><p> </p><p>like too many mornings before, you left quietly and paid it no mind. it is only when you’re in your cramped shower, pushing absentmindedly at a yellowing bruise arced over your hip in the shape of one particular thumb that it rushes to and shatters against forefront of your mind, spilling forth all the contents of the stupid, squirrely thing that batters around your chest. it confronted you, taking over your eyes with cascading rolls of film; all displaying the snapshots and secret things you’d coveted despite the warnings and red tape you slapped over the name javier pena</p><p> </p><p> an improptu office party. </p><p>one long, blue day. </p><p>a rooftop on a sweltering, summer evening. </p><p>and so, so many others you couldn’t bring yourself to accept. </p><p> </p><p>they were all there, bare on your grungy bathroom floor. and you were fucked.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b>x</b> </span>
</p><p> </p><p>he accepted your carefully planned avoidance for eight days and half an afternoon. it was easier for you than you anticipated; the embassy was small and all branches of government were sardined for room, but it meant you could hide between the squeezed space of others. dart around corners a little faster, hide behind your hair a little easier. and--well-- you didn’t imagine javi would attempt to track you down anytime soon. a little white noise here and there was given. there was a shameful lot of you that ached to see him, hear him, <em> fuck </em>--smell him and the awful overtly masculine cologne he’d haphazardly slap on post quick-shave. the one that ran your cheeks warm and made your heartbeat sputter when he was a breadth away. you ached for it and that was why you needed your distance from him. because you needed to think clearly. because --</p><p>because regardless of how many nights you spent with your head cradled against his chest feeling genuinely, actually safe you knew, you <em> knew </em>it wasn’t real. it was a heated delusion teetering on the shoulders of colombia’s sweet haze, a dream and a nightmare feeding off two passions in pursuit of something inexplicable. two people that happened to fall parallel to one another, recognize the mutual thing they sought -- that chase, the maddening adrenaline spike that came with it-- and spark. on a different backdrop, you were certain there’d be no chance. the situational cocktail had been paramount, you were sure. the honesty of it sent a scorch all the way to your teeth. </p><p> </p><p>and because you could not and would not do this to yourself. at the core of it all, it had nothing to do with the ambassador, the cia, the dea, pablo escobar -- it was you. your heart. </p><p> </p><p>it’s thursday when he catches you in the copy room. you whirl on the spot when you first see him in the doorway, body deciding an escape, and smart your side on the edge of a printer. the startle brings a fond slope of his brow, a crawling smile.</p><p> </p><p>(his dimples. the faint scratches of crow feet crinkling his eyes. you kept that all committed, too.)</p><p> </p><p>he has you around the elbow, turning you into him gently and you<em> loathe </em> how easy it is. how you felt every tense thing inside of you unfurl just at the threshold of his warmth. a greeting is murmured at your temple and you think that he has either awoken in an atypically good mood or has made leeway in his melvillian pursuit. you find out that it is neither because the next thing he says is: </p><p> </p><p>“i’ve just. i...am glad to see you.” </p><p> </p><p>despite yourself, you’re glad to see him too and, god, you can’t help but <em> melt </em>. </p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b>x</b> </span>
</p><p> </p><p>you forget for the rest of the day, wrapped up and toasty with how darling your little tryst in the copy room was. you missed him, you let the words tumble forth so quickly, you almost bite your tongue off to stop them. he allowed it, changed the subject quickly. he made you guffaw at something after that, laughed alongside you at the noise you made, and swiped a stray eyelash from your cheek while telling you to make a wish. five whole seconds of eye contact and you know your wish. that is all it takes and you tell yourself that maybe--maybe it’s okay. just for a little longer, maybe it’s okay to keep this and him and all the slips of memories you let shine too brightly to mean nothing. you love him. you love javi. </p><p> </p><p>later that night, you catch up with a mixed bag of coworkers, at a local dig. the beer is warmer than you like and everyone is very loud but you’re feeling especially buoyant. you waft around with your happy secret, eyes drifting across faces hoping to find one in particular. you don’t but you tamp your smudge of disappointment down when you hear a hushed tell of an assignment amongst a couple of the dea officers.you nod sagely at that and elect to roll through the rest of your evening bouncing to the music with a couple of coworkers. you could always swing by his later. </p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b>x</b> </span>
</p><p> </p><p>you decide on bringing him dinner and you wish you could say you thought of it last minute, but you churned it over and over in your head between each song on the dancefloor. and--you wanted to see him again. you blatantly ignored the bit of yourself that wanted to admonish you for that and allowed yourself the momentary lapse. one brief occurence in over a week wasn’t enough, you concluded, and the nicest thing to end your day was to accidentally fall asleep in the wrong bed. </p><p> </p><p>his door is unlocked so you think that means he’s been expecting you, an exciting prospect that makes you tingle all over. your obscene stretch of a smile is met with the back of a naked woman and a bewildered and disheveled javi. you both go still. </p><p> </p><p>ah, yes, his assignment. </p><p> </p><p>a poisonous chill plummets to your feet that he does not get to see. you break the terse stillness, the electric line of contact between your gazes, and drop the bag of takeout next to tumble of shoes they’ve left. </p><p> </p><p>“bad timing, i see. goodnight,” </p><p> </p><p>is what you allow out before you duck into the hallway and dart up the stairs to your apartment. you knew javi slept with his informants, had always known, he had told you himself it was his primary source of intel. and you said you were okay with it. </p><p> </p><p>you were. you had to be. </p><p>but -- you fancy that perhaps you hear your name called after you.</p><p>but there are no footsteps following you. </p><p>so you hold it for ten beats of your stupid, stupid heart and force it away with one harsh exhale.</p><p> </p><p>smell that, it's wet grass, and smoke in my hair</p><p>I think I've had enough</p><p><br/><b> <em>townie</em> </b>, mitski</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>it's...five am.<br/>mitski gets me right in the gut.<br/>and if i cannot manage to figure out how the hell to add this to a series alongside 'i bet on losing dogs' know that they are meant to be Together(tm) but i am too tired to try to understand technology</p></blockquote></div></div>
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